Jane spoke loudly, "Excuse me, I'm sick. You know, too much tripe's bad for the digestion. Coming Joy?"

"No, Jane, I'm staying a while. Goodnight, honey."

IV

Weeks and weeks in an empty house, and Jane waited for the sound of footfalls on the driveway, the creak of an opening door. The summer passed into autumn and the rains. At night the rain spoke to her on the rooftops and peered thin-fingered on the panes. Perhaps Myrt was right, that one shouldn't be confined to one love, or one world. Perhaps, however, Joy was on an adventure with nothingness as a tree bereft of leaves. For what is the dry husk of maize once the green leaves are gone and the sweet grain dried away? And what are sentiment and beauty without their own excuse for being?

In the dark rain she doubted; by morning she wondered. She knew in her heart that sometime, before the spring, there would be a light tapping on the door, and a call. But also there might be a sadder Joy, and a very cynical Jane.

ANOTHER FIRST

Volume I, Number 1 of the Denver Area Mattachine Newsletter was issued this month. Though the group is admittedly small in number, its program and first efforts at publication are impressive. Scheduled for August is a discussion meeting on "The Need for a Permanent Relationship", and a Mountain Steak Fry.

Anyone interested in the activities of this group should contact the Mattachine Society, P.0. Box 7035, Capitol Hill Station, Denver 6, Colorado.

Subscription to the Denver Newsletter is $1.00 per year.

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